Warren was standing at one of the room’s many windows, admiring the view of Richardson Bay and imagining how happy he would be to one day inherit this home, when Alma entered, walking cautiously. One of her longest friends, Beatrice Snyder, had recently broken her hip after a fall. Alma was determined to avoid a similar fate and took care in all her movements.
“Alma, my dear, how are you?” Warren asked, as he kissed her offered hand and smiled warmly.
“I’m as well as can be expected,” Alma said, as she gave a wan smile in response to Warren’s touch before making herself comfortable in an antique wingback chair that appeared to swallow her whole.
Warren marveled at how Alma, while facing the challenges of declining health, managed to summon the strength and interest in every bit of news he was able to bring her. His only conclusion was that Sausalito was her soap opera and she was addicted to the individual storylines of dozens of its players. Therefore, she tolerated Warren as a reliable source for what most others would consider inconsequential news.
Alma believed herself to be gracious by the simple act of inviting Warren into her home. If not for her love of gossip, he would have no place in her presence. Warren sensed this and at his core thought of her as a heartless creature, while keeping a satisfied smile fixed on his face whenever in her presence.
“Now, Warren,” she began in the imperious tone he greatly admired, “what’s this business about Grant Randolph?”
As he frequently did, Warren spun a tale over a period of ten minutes that would have taken anyone else a few minutes to tell. But since his only currency was information, he was a master at presenting spare facts in the form of an epic story.
“Well, well! I can tell you, Warren; I’m not at all surprised. That man has a mean streak in him. Beating his wife senseless. Reprehensible. I knew he was not one of us and this proves me right! Just shocking!”
“If I did not know before how awful that man is, I certainly know it now,” Warren said with a false look of deep concern.
“I hope you think twice before putting any of this in your newspaper column. You can never be sure what kind of people you’re dealing with. For years, we had a better group of individuals moving into Sausalito. Now, I just don’t know,” the old woman said with a stern expression and a shake of her head. “These young social-climbers are a different breed.”
“My dear, I couldn’t put it better.”
Alma’s advice was music to Warren’s ears. Sharing his best scoops with many of his column’s casual readers seemed like a foolish waste of a story he could deliver in smaller portions to all of the town’s most influential citizens.
He cringed at the thought of living under the same dark cloud as Rob Timmons. Reporting hard news can make you a target—not of physical harm, but for being socially ostracized. A teller of truths that many don’t want to hear—and others are enraged to see in print—can be a heavy cross to carry. A newspaper column is instantly available to everyone. On the other hand, whispered gossip allows you to select your listeners.
There was no need for Alma to press this matter. If Randolph could beat his wife, he could easily do physical harm to someone who embarrassed him in print. Still, Warren regretted that he had already concocted the perfect headline:
Arts Commission Chair Grant Randolph Paints an Ugly Picture!
He’d saved it to a file marked Randolph in the hope that his cleverly crafted declaration might one day appear above his byline.
The longer Alma thought about the incident, the more agitated she became. After a lengthy silence, she suddenly regretted her initial suggestion. “Well, Warren, what are you going to do about this? It would be an outrage for Randolph to be allowed to stay as chair of the arts commission: a violent man in a distinguished community position? That’s unacceptable!”
It quickly occurred to Warren that their conversation was going in the wrong direction. If Alma presumed that he wished to play the combatant, she was mistaken.
Warren paused and uttered an extended, “Well…” which gave the appearance that he was deep in thought. Then he began: “I have eyes and ears everywhere. First, we’ll have to see if his unfortunate wife steps forward and files a charge against him. You know, in many cases these battered women don’t pursue their tormentors. They let them back into the house and hope to continue their lives together as if nothing happened.”
Warren was indeed flying by the seat of his pants. To begin with, he was ignorant as to the extent of Mrs. Randolph’s actual injuries. His only knowledge was that the police had been called by one of Randolph’s neighbors, who reported a domestic dispute.
When the Sausalito police officers had arrived, Mrs. Randolph was sprawled across the living room floor, and her husband appeared to have been drinking heavily. For all Warren knew, Grant Randolph might have been released hours after arriving at the county jail. While it made for juicy gossip, the entire incident might amount to far more smoke than fire. Unfortunately for Warren, the possibility of an abused wife was something Alma decided she could not ignore.
“There is no way that man should be allowed to continue in his current position,” Alma said with increasing conviction. “While I still believe you need to be careful about what you put in your column, you’re in the best position to tell other members of
